


Sash

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Crossdressing, Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 16:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4066024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Losing a bet, Legolas wears a gown, much to his father’s disapproval and Elrond’s placid understanding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sash

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for lunarlumina’s “legolas lost a bet from the twins that resulted with him having to crossdress for an entire day, inspiring lust among the residents of rivendell or mirkwood, much to the chagrin of the rulers of either realm” prompt on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s long into the evening by the time Thranduil’s summons is answered, which doesn’t particularly surprise Elrond; Legolas is young, and there are far more interesting things in Imladris than the attendance of one’s own father. It’s rare that meetings like this occur, where the Woodland Realm brings so many of its people, and doubtless the young prince is showing his followers about. Elrohir and Elladan have also spoken much of this arrangement, and it would surprise Elrond if the three hadn’t already found time together.

When Legolas approaches the open patio his father and host stand on, he’s alone. Lindir, having fetched him, lingers back a few places, looking respectfully away with a blush across his cheeks. Elrond has always found Lindir particularly quick to embarrassment, but here, it’s plain enough why. 

Legolas pauses at the mouth of the circular platform, in between the stone pillars. The setting sun washes attractively over his pale skin and blond-white hair, his features just as fair as Elrond’s remembered them. His blue eyes remain downcast, though not entirely out of reverence to the men before him. He likely bears his own embarrassment, though his cheeks remain stubbornly clear of the blush that plagues Lindir’s.

Legolas is dressed a long, flowing gown, synched tight around the middle where a woman’s hips would typically be. The neckline dips low along his collarbone, as if to offer a peek of cleavage, though the chest below is flat. The sleeves brush just over Legolas’ shoulders, clinging tight to his strong biceps and ending in lace around his long fingers. His lithe body fits the shape well enough, though it does seem as though there’s too much room over his breast. The gown hangs low enough to hide his feet, but it seems unlikely that he would be wearing his usual boots under such an elegant dress. 

Men in Imladris are free to wear what they will, but Elrond isn’t particularly surprised to hear Thranduil ask coldly beside him, “What are you wearing?”

Legolas opens his mouth. He doesn’t look up at his father, nor does he answer; he seems to search for the words, then merely closes his mouth. The braids intricately woven behind his ears end in long strands that sweep down his front, over his shoulders, and they dance lightly in the wind amongst the silence. 

Elrond is the one to answer, because he’s belatedly realized, “That is one of Arwen’s gowns.”

Legolas nods tightly. There was no judgment in Elrond’s voice, but Thranduil’s tone remains harsh when he asks, “Why are you wearing it?”

“I... have lost a bet,” Legolas explains slowly, which tells Elrond the story even before he finishes. ‘Bets’ of this nature are childish at best, but Elrond reminds himself that eons ago, he and Thranduil made their own mistakes. Blue eyes flickering tentatively up to Elrond, Legolas goes on, “I lost to Elrohir and Elladan. This was their price.” Elrond sighs without opening his mouth. He will have to speak to his sons, for he doesn’t imagine this choice of ‘punishment’ to be innocent. He still nods curtly to tell Legolas that he in no way blames the Greenwood prince for this information. 

Thranduil takes a step closer, and Legolas looks down again. Though Thranduil’s posture is strict and his face controlled, it’s obvious that inside, he’s seething. He hisses, “Since I awoke this morning, I have heard nothing but lewd rumours of you, both from my own people and the residents of Imladris. I had hoped it was merely wishful thinking, however numerous the incident. It has not escaped my notice how your looks have developed as you have grown, and it is only natural for furtive whispers to be thrown about, speculating on a young prince’s sexual behaviour. ...But now I see that this mass desire for your debauchment is your own doing.”

The scolding is difficult for Elrond to listen to. Yet Legolas merely replies, hollow and hushed, “I am sorry, Ada.”

Thranduil looks about to snap again, but Elrond steps forward. He tucks his fingers subtly around Thranduil’s wrist, drawing his attention back. Elrond tries not to tread on others’ parenting, but he can’t help but feel sympathy for the dejected man before him. Quietly, more to Thranduil than Legolas, Elrond says, “There is no harm done.” To Legolas, he asks, “How long is this bet to last?”

Legolas hesitates, then answers, “Until the end of the day, my lord.”

“It is almost over, then.” In a vein attempt to lighten the mood, Elrond adds, “And I am sure all of the things your father has heard of you have been positive, however ‘lewd.’” Thranduil turns a thin glare on Elrond, but Elrond merely looks past him, calling to his own attendant, “Lindir. What do you think of Prince Legolas?”

Lindir’s head snaps around, eyes wide. He looks shocked for a moment, then flusters, and he nearly stutters to say, “He is... very beautiful, my lord.” A smile tugs at the corner of Legolas’ lips, gone so fast that Elrond might have imagined it. He nods. 

He adds, “I agree.” Then he turns to the king beside him and notes, “Besides, I know of another elf who has been known to make grandiose choices to emphasize their own beauty.” Thranduil’s mouth falls open, while Elrond’s brows lift in challenge.

It only takes a second for Thranduil to recover himself enough to his, “This is easy enough for you to say; you have not passed countless elves surreptitiously discussing the debauchment of your son.”

“I have lived a long time, and I have heard plenty of untoward interest towards my offspring. But they are the only ones who can determine the merit of that interest.” Before Thranduil can jump in, Elrond slyly adds, “Now, I would like to know why exactly you find my daughter’s dress so wholly inappropriate.”

Legolas looks pointedly away. Lindir has bitten down a small smile and bowed his head. Thranduil looks as furious as ever, but now that Elrond’s involved himself, there’s little he can say. He would never denounce Arwen’s virtue aloud, and so he is forced into silence, perhaps reevaluating his stance, or perhaps simply looking for the most diplomatic way out.

Finally, he concedes, “Very well. But you will return to clothing befitting your station tomorrow, Legolas.”

Legolas quickly answers, “Yes, Ada.” He only glances up when it’s clear that he’s looking for permission to leave, and Thranduil waves a hand for dismissal.

When Legolas turns on the spot, he has to bundle his skirts to return down the stairs. Lindir’s eyes follow the movement, and he bites his lip. A look of awe has taken over his features, as though he’s never seen anything so alluring. But he waits for a nod from his master before he follows after the prince, waiting a respectful distance.

In the private silence that follows, Elrond makes an attempt at peace. “Your son is incredibly handsome, Thranduil. It is no wonder that he draws looks wherever he goes, regardless of what fabric covers him.”

Thranduil lets out a sigh. But he doesn’t deny it, only muses, “He takes after his father that way.”

Elrond offers him an indulgent smile. Elrong would say more, but it looks as though Thranduil has already learned his lesson. Or at least, the tension has ebbed away from him. Elrond understands, at least, the desire to protect one’s child, even if here, Thranduil was wrong. There’s no point discussing it; he’d never admit his own faults. 

He does follow when Elrond returns to the balcony railing, looking down at the water to ask, “Now... where were we, again?”


End file.
